


Magic Dolphins Bearing Gifts

by Cuda (Scylla)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 50 States in 50 Days Challenge, 50 Toys in 50 Days Challenge, Anal Sex, First Time, Humor, M/M, Monster of the Week, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Sexting, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 15:54:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11405664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scylla/pseuds/Cuda
Summary: Everything about this hunt is unconventional, from the monster of the week to the thank-you-for-not-shanking-me gift he foists on Sam. Unsure of what to do with it - but absolutely, one hundred percent sure Dean Must Never Find Out About This, Sam asks for help. Just a little too vaguely. Written for the 50 Toys in 50 Days Challenge.





	1. Part One: The Magic River Dolphin

**Author's Note:**

> My challenge prompts for the 50 Toys/50 States in 50 Days Challenge were Iowa, and the We-Vibe Wish. The Wish actually has an app control that syncs with it and potentially allows a partner to control it. It's not _supposed_ to work quite like it does in this fic, but Castiel... modified it. Given the reviews on the app's functionality, that was probably an improvement.

Unfortunately, the dude running the sex shop in the middle of the Iowa heartland was a monster.

But not, like, an eat-your-face, rip-out-your-heart-by-the-full-moon kind of monster.

He was a dolphin.

A river dolphin.

A magic, pink, river dolphin. Which even to Sam, whose history included doozies like 'Archangel Lucifer tried to wear me to the Apocalypse like a prom dress,' this was out there. Worse, the cynical hunter in the back of his head kept trying to convince Sam that the magic pink river dolphin probably ate people. Sam didn't know what was worse - the mental image of a pink dolphin munching bikini babes like a low-budget _Jaws_ sequel, or that his fucked-up, violence-soaked brain found the image more palatable than the alternative.

If we're splitting hairs here, 'unfortunately' probably wasn't the best word to describe Sam's general outlook. After all, the magic pink river dolphin (the lore called them _Encantados_ , as Lucas the _Encantado_ was happy to point out) seemed like a decent guy. Pretty understanding about discovering a hunter lurking near the bondage gear. Pretty determined to prove he was a hard-working, documented immigrant from _Brasíl_ , just minding his own business. That business being the dispensation of condoms, lube, toys and safer-sex advice in the interests of a sex-positive Iowa.

Sam spent a lot of time in Iowa. Iowa could definitely use more sex positivity.

The 'unfortunate' part came into play when Sam realized that Lucas wasn't, in fact, human. Which made keeping him alive - and out of Dean's metaphorical gunsights - complicated. Contrary to Sam's fucked-up, violence-soaked hunter brain, maybe Lucas didn't eat faces (or only in the euphemistic sense). But someone else clearly found Des Moines the betcha-can't-eat-just-one snack aisle of the Midwest. Someone who also liked to play with their food beforehand. In ways that led the Winchesters, or more accurately Sam, who'd drawn the short straw; to the BDSM display where Lucas found him.

Lucas's human form, it had to be noted, was really, _really_ attractive. Attractive in the way that had Sam scrambling, half panicked he'd stumbled on a siren. Broad shoulders, kissable tummy, gorgeous eyes and a carefully curated level of scruff. He was dressed like he'd just escaped a burlesque revue, shirtless in cuffs, bowtie and suspenders. A neat little black bowler perched on his head, and he had Sam's number from the minute they made eye contact.

It took a while to figure out what Lucas was. A few more visits to the sex shop, in a strip mall locked in among the urban sprawl of Des Moines' northern verge. Lucas the _Encantado_ made Sam want things he hadn't wanted in years. Made Sam want to follow him, to worship, to submit. But remember Lucifer? Apocalypse? Prom dress? Not to mention all the other mindwarping monsters creeping and crawling up and down the alphabet. With so much experience scratching fingerholds on his own sanity in the past decade, Sam was pretty good at resistance.

Or he was dead inside. Take your pick, really.

Dean gave him shit about the sex noises he made in his sleep and the morning wood, but Sam wasn't about to go jumping in any rivers over that. Least of all to fuck a magic pink river dolphin, and subsequently live forever under the sea.

They didn't kill Lucas, but it was a near thing.

He insisted on thanking Sam for that. Sam, dredging up a smile as he looked down into Lucas's grateful dark eyes, did not want to be thanked.

"Here. You seem like a tech guy," Lucas said, handing over an anonymous black paper bag despite Sam's protests. How near they'd come to killing him, Sam never let Lucas know. At least they managed to save him from the asshole vampires who were, actually, stealing gear from Lucas to play with their human Twinkies and Ding Dongs and Ho-Hos before they sucked out all the cream filling.

Oh, God. Never think about that again.

"No, seriously," Lucas protested, "this thing is past warranty. Take it."

Sam peeped in the bag, almost afraid of what he'd find. The smart phone-operated vibrator from the locked display case where Lucas first caught him lurking. The price tag for that thing had been in the triple digits. "Thanks, but—"

"Look, this city still plays _Juice Jam_. By the time they get around to sex toys on their smart phones, this thing will be out of date. So, it's something to remember me by," Lucas replied, with a waggle of his perfect eyebrows.

So Sam took it, deciding to err on the side of politeness and expedience. No sense looking a gift dolphin in the mouth. Why he didn't just throw it away, Sam would never know. Maybe some part of him wanted to take it apart and research it. Maybe (more likely) he was in denial. Either way, the first thought that crossed his mind was: he just had to keep it away from Dean until they got home. Then everything would be fine. And fuck, they'd hidden worse from each other than cute little bullet vibrators, right? Right.

He wrapped the box in a pair of underwear, buried it at the bottom of his duffel, and prayed.

Praying was his first mistake.

Not being very, very specific? That was his second.

Things went fine, until Oskaloosa. Until Dean left their motel on a beer-and-burrito run, and five minutes later, there was a knock at the door.

Sam tensed, until he heard Castiel's muffled voice on the other side of the door. "Sam?"

"Cas!" Sam breathed with relief. He checked - yes, there really was an angel on his doorstep - and let Castiel into the room. "Dude, nice to see you, but what are you doing here?"

That earned him an _are you fucking serious_ squint. Like it should be perfectly obvious why Castiel was standing in a shabby-ass motel room in the middle of nowhere when he had important shit to do. Ten solid seconds ticked off before Castiel seemed to dredge up enough fucks to give him an answer.

"This is your idea, not mine," Castiel replied, "Now," his eyes skated away from Sam, followed shortly by the rest of his body as he searched the room, "what is it, and more importantly, ah—" he picked up Sam's duffel bag, plopped it on the bed, and dug into it, "—why?"

Sam raced to intercept him. Before he could wrest the bag away, Castiel was up to the elbows, rifling through layers of shirts and socks and books like DVDs in the Walmart bargain bin. " _Why_? What? What are you doing with my bag?"

They made eye contact, and Castiel froze. "You prayed for me," he said, as grave and nonchalant as if he wasn't feeling up Sam's unmentionables.

"I did what?" Sam said blankly.

"You _prayed_ for me," Castiel repeated, glaring now, "you also asked to ensure Dean 'never, ever finds out about this,' which is ill-advised but hardly a new concept between you two." He withdrew from Sam's bag and straightened, arms at his sides. Like an arrow. Or the hands of a clock, pointing straight to disaster time. "He hasn't left your side in two days. Are you sure he isn't already aware of it?"

The penny dropped. A flush as hot as a sunburn lit up Sam's neck and chest. "Oh. Oh God."

Castiel tipped his head.

"No. _No_. I didn't pray to you on purpose. I mean, not really? I guess, I—" Sam trailed off, then squinted at Castiel. "You mean you drove all the way here because I prayed to you to help me hide something from Dean?"

There was that _you're fucking shitting me_ look again.

"You prayed. By accident," Castiel echoed, his teeth snicking off the last word like he was thinking about biting things. Possibly Sam.

"Yeah. Look. It wasn't supposed to be to you. It was just a general prayer."

Castiel took a step closer, arms still at his sides. "You longed for me. I felt it."

Sam's flush intensified. Possibly from soul-melting embarrassment. "I was not 'longing' for you. Thinking about you, okay? Maybe? Look, I'm sorry the mail got misdirected."

With a shake of his head, Castiel blew that theory right out of the water. "That's not how it works. I can't hear thoughts unless you address me directly. Or yearn for me. Specifically."

"Specifically, huh?" Sam repeated weakly. Because okay, yeah. Maybe he'd thought about it. About Castiel. Specifically. Maybe even with regards to the thing hiding in the bottom of Sam's duffel bag.

Castiel took another step closer. He tipped his head again, less angry and more curious. Like Sam was a photograph he couldn't quite make out. "Sam, what are you hiding?"

"In the bag?" Sam asked. He hadn't meant for it to sound as desperate as it did. He didn't know if he really wanted to pursue Door Number Two. Maybe all this was just hormonal hangover from Lucas, and well, Sam wasn't gonna jump in the river. Not then, and not now. Castiel looked at him for what felt like forever, before his eyes dropped to the duffel bag, and he nodded.

"In the bag," Castiel confirmed.

So it was a tradeoff. Castiel got whatever Sam was hiding in the bag, in exchange for an end to this conversation. Given the choice between the two, Sam figured he lucked out. He drew the duffel bag towards himself, sat down on the edge of the bed, and dug out the vibrator in its box. Sam handed it over. "This is it."

Castiel took it from him, examining the glossy white box. A velcro strap peeled back the lid, revealing the toy through a cellophane window. The vibrator looked like a flat Easter egg, in a startling shade of robin's egg blue. Castiel studied it, nose almost pressed to the plastic.

"This is a human pleasure aid," Castiel said eventually, lowering the box to favor Sam with another long look - this one measuring. "Why would you hide it from Dean? He has a significant amount of fetish pornography in the Bunker. Surely a--" he glanced at the box, and the alien-egg-looking thing inside, "'smart phone-enabled vibe' is nothing he would be concerned about."

Sam tipped his head back and shoved his hands through his hair, laughing as the whole ridiculous situation finally reached his sense of humor. "You'd be surprised," he said, finally, and gave the box a pat. "Since you're here, could you just take it back to the Bunker? And hide it? In my room, somewhere," he clarified, remembering that vagaries were the reason why he was currently making eye contact with an angel of the Lord over a sex toy.

At the request, Castiel frowned. He closed the front panel of the box, smoothing the velcro strap down with overdone care. When his eyes finally found Sam's again, they held concern. "Sam, you're allowed to be who you are."

 _Sure,_ Sam thought, _I'm the kind of guy who takes a free sex toy from the magic pink river dolphin I almost killed, Cas. Is that allowed?_

He forgot about the whole mental intent thing, right up until Castiel's expression clouded.

"You were hunting an _Encantado_?" Castiel asked.

At which point, Dean's headlights sliced through the motel blinds.

Sam put both hands on the vibrator box and shoved it against Castiel's chest. "Fine, you're here already, so take this. And figure out a reason why you—"

Suddenly he was alone. Sam turned a slow circle, taking in the empty room. "Cas?"

"I'm right here," the air in front of his face spoke, with a nearness that sent adrenaline streaming into Sam's blood, "don't worry, Sam. I'll handle this."

"You can still do the invisibility thing?" Sam asked.

"Of course," the room answered, like that should have been perfectly obvious. Dean blew into the room with a twelve-pack each of beer and burritos, and Castiel blew out. Apparently. At some point.

Sam watched his words for a few hours afterward, anyway. Just in case.


	2. Part Two: Omaha

They picked up another case in Bellevue. No big surprise there. The Omaha metro area had the population density of a city pool in July, and the kind of disorganized urban sprawl that attracted all sorts of paranormal critters. Sam didn't mind; he liked the botanical gardens and the zoo aquarium, and Dean liked Spaghetti Works' all-you-can-eat pasta. But it delayed their trip home by at least a week. Three days into a haunting, up to his ears in the Omaha Public Library's periodical stacks, Sam had forgotten about the vibrator.

On the desk at his elbow, Sam's phone screen glowed. Sam reached for it, absent, eyes still on the headlines as they skimmed through the microfiche reader.

He looked down at his phone eventually, expecting to see a message from Dean.

It wasn't.

> **(4:47PM) Castiel:** Hello, Sam.

The events of three days ago surged up from the depths of his memory. Sam stared at the text, studying it, like the placement of the comma or the capitalization of his name or the period at the end held some hidden implications about how the rest of this conversation was going to go. No way to know but by asking, Sam decided, and replied.

> **(4:48PM) Sam:** Hi Cas. Everything ok?

Two minutes later, the reply came in.

> **(4:50PM) Cas:** I'm not sure.
> 
> **(4:50PM) Sam:** What do you mean? What's going on?
> 
> **(4:52PM) Cas:** The object I collected for you wasn't working properly. I made some adjustments. It is working now.

Sam's instincts fired alarm bells like tornado sirens. Visions of a vibrator somehow catching the Bunker on fire filled his head. Castiel wasn't the most tech savvy of individuals, and he probably had different parameters of what 'working properly' meant. Not that Sam spent a lot of time preoccupied with what might pleasure an angel. 'Not a lot,' meaning, 'not ever, like, _at all_ , because of course nobody ever wonders about how to get an angel off and especially not about the noises they might make.'

He typed back frantically, half desperate to just pick up the phone and call, half terrified about what his side of the ensuing conversation might sound like to the librarian manning the help desk a few feet away.

> **(4:56PM) Sam:** I asked you to hide it! What did you do?
> 
> **(5:00PM) Cas:** The smart phone application that came with the product was useless. I altered it.
> 
> **(5:00PM) Sam:** What does that even mean?
> 
> **(5:06PM) Sam:** Cas?
> 
> **(5:12PM) Sam:** Are you all right?
> 
> **(5:13PM) Cas:** Text me again, Sam.

Sam scrambled the phone off the table when it buzzed, and dropped it on the floor, earning himself a curious look from the help desk librarian. Shooting her a sheepish smile, Sam dug the phone out from under the table and read the message. Studied it, not comprehending for a few minutes. Then—

Oh.

_Oh._

The phone hit the table face-first, faster than if Castiel had just texted him nudes. Adrenaline ramped up, pouring into Sam's blood, leaving him panting like a madman. Now the help desk librarian looked more than curious. Now she was getting up, headed straight for him, concern writ large on every corner of her expression. All things considered, concern was warranted. Worry, even. Fuck, outright panic was on the table. Sam was about ninety-eight percent sure he'd just received a text from an angel with a vibrator somewhere on his person. A vibrator that was possibly, _possibly_ , rumbling Castiel's naughty bits every time Sam messaged him. This was all conjecture, and the only way to find out was to ask for confirmation - via text - if his texts were rustling Castiel's jimmies the way he'd just implied.

'Jimmies' was maybe not a word he should use in reference to Castiel's junk, _ever_ again.

"Hey, how are you?" the librarian asked with a carefully friendly smile, "I just happened to notice you were looking a little green around the gills, buddy. Do you need to go for a walk, or can I get you some water?"

With a deep breath to smooth some of the panic out of his eyes, Sam looked up. "Oh, uh, sorry. No. Just disoriented." He gestured at the microfiche reader. "I run it too fast sometimes."

The librarian's smile telegraphed genuine relief. "World rolling backwards right now?"

Yeah. Yeah, that about covered it. Sam bobbed his head.

"Why don't you take a break? You can leave your books here with me while you get away from the desk for a while. I'll make sure your machine stays free."

"Actually, I'm just about done," Sam replied. Which he was. In several meanings of the word. "Thank you, though."

She patted his shoulder. "Okay. Take your time. Let me know if things are still wobbly, all right?"

When the librarian retreated back to her desk at last, Sam shoved his notebooks into his bag, rewound the microfiche reels, and headed outside for some fresh air. He deliberately ignored his phone until he was a block away from the building, with some calming clean air in his lungs.

Of course, another text message was waiting for him. Two, actually. One of them was from Dean, saying he was done with interviews, had a small lead, and wanted pizza for dinner. The other was, of course, from the angel with Sam's vibrator on his dick. Or something. Dean's being the safer of the two messages, Sam answered his first, and course-corrected for a pizzeria called "Zio's" several blocks east.

Finally, stomach trying to crawl up his throat, Sam looked at Castiel's message thread.

> **(5:45PM) Cas:** Sam?
> 
> **(6:01PM) Sam:** 1) did you just hook up that thing to text messages, 2) are you wearing it now, 3) thanks for your help but seriously I don't need the phone app thing.
> 
> **(6:04PM) Cas:** 1) Yes. 2) Yes. 3) I think you do. Why are you texting in lists?

And there was the confirmation Sam was looking for. He scrolled up his phone screen, silently counting the number of texts (seven) he'd - apparently - sent to Castiel's groin. He lowered the phone again, swept his free hand over his face, then slid his thumb across Castiel's name on the screen. The phone dialed. Sam started in as soon as he heard Castiel pick up. "What are you doing, Castiel?"

"Is this—is this supposed to be a come-on? Am I supposed to make something up?" Castiel replied, halting with clear confusion.

"No, Cas. I mean it. I want you to tell me what you're doing with that thing on your—" Sam's brain slammed down before he could get to the word. To the body part. The image of it swam through his thoughts in technicolor, however. Sam looked up, like Heaven was actually overhead and God was actually in it, and asked what he'd done to deserve this.

"I understand that you are an intensely private person, Sam. In hindsight, it may have been a tactical error."

"You think?"

"I thought—" Castiel paused. When he came back on the line, he sounded frustrated. "—when I heard your prayer, I thought—I thought it might be a solution to a very troubling situation."

"What situation? Cas, what are you talking about?"

"You want me," Castiel blurted, and Sam had to stop walking as the three words hit his arousal like a nuclear bomb. "At first I thought it was a mistake. When you pray, your voice is—clearer—than Dean's. I hear every word. I can feel what you feel."

Sam leaned his shoulder against the building at his left, sunwarm brick breathing heat through his jacket. Shame flowed over him. Yeah, okay, he did want to jump in the river. Maybe he'd thought about it a lot more than 'a lot,' if he was honest. But Castiel was an angel. Castiel had enough people probably thinking slutty thoughts about him, without one hell-scented weirdo with a fucked up soul wanting to ride him like a Christmas pony. "Look, Cas, I'm— you were never meant to hear all that. I'm sorry. You know I would never—"

He couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't. Things were bad enough as it was. The minute the words got out of his mouth, they'd hang there forever between him and Castiel. They'd taint everything and the chances of this relationship ever achieving anything like normalcy (whatever their brand of that was) again would go down to zero.

The silence on the other end of the line was long, and - to Sam's mind, at least - judging.

"Why?" Castiel asked.

Sam blinked. "What do you mean, 'why?' You know why."

An audible sigh drifted across the connection. "Sam, I'm aware that you have a hard time accepting others' kindness, but for once, pay attention." His voice sharpened, "As you clearly missed the first part of this conversation - my behavior was intended to seek a solution."

"I don't—"

"A solution, Sam. Do you have any idea what it's been like to listen to you, to feel you want me all these years—"

More shame tightened Sam's gut, until he felt sick. "Oh, oh my God Cas, I didn't mean to—"

"—and feel the same, and not do anything about it?" Castiel cut Sam off, mid-apology.

"What?"

Another sigh, heavier than the last. "At first, I didn't understand. It was easier to ignore. When I understood, there wasn't time - and my intent had been to return this vessel to Jimmy unharmed. He is married. I assumed my desires were more about novelty and curiosity, and would lessen in time. They didn't, Sam. The opposite happened."

"Opposite?" Sam echoed.

"Yes. After those months I spent in completely human form, flooded with the unavoidable effects of testosterone, I found the desires had sharpened. Deepened in detail. I knew what I wanted, and why. But there were other considerations."

Sam tried not to think about those considerations in any specific terms. The blurriest of recollections was terrifying enough.

"When I heard you pray this time," Castiel continued, "with so much desperation, I couldn't—couldn't resist you. The prayer was so vague, I couldn't be sure, but I hoped. Hoped it was an invitation. Once I realized it was clearly nothing of the sort, I was - well. I'm sorry, Sam. Deeply."

Sam let them both marinate in silence a little while after that. He pushed away from the wall, walking once more towards the pizzeria, and thinking hard.

He wanted to shove it all off. Chalk it all up to a bad dream or a hallucination or an elaborate prank before it got out of control.

And why was that, really? Why couldn't this be real? Because he didn't deserve to be wanted? Castiel might be a lot of things as an angel and a soldier of God, but he was way past the pure and fluffy-winged stereotypes. Wanting Castiel, caring about Castiel - that couldn't dirty or break him any worse than he already was. Not even if it was Sam doing the dirtying.

Maybe the solution was right in front of him. Maybe, Castiel was right. He needed this more than he thought.

"You still there, Cas?" Sam asked, quietly.

"I'm here, Sam," Castiel answered.

"You at the Bunker? You still got that thing?"

"Yes. And yes, although I removed it after it was clearly—Sam?" Castiel's hesitation was audible, his voice fearful as he spoke again, "Should I—should I put it back on?"

Sam took a deep breath and plunged. "Yeah. Yeah, I want that. I want you to go in my room," he said, at a surge of inspiration, "Lie down. And um, put it wherever it makes you feel the most."

"The most?" Castiel sounded puzzled.

"Yeah. Try a few different places. I'll, um. I'll text you in about fifteen minutes. Then you can tell me about it."

Castiel's voice was breathy when it came back on the line. Beneath it, Sam caught the low hum of the vibrator, and bit his lip.

"All right, Sam," Castiel said.

* * *

Dean was waiting for him at Zio's, photocopies sprawled across a back corner table. Sam slid into the booth, apologetic.

"Got lost?" Dean asked, amused. He was in a good mood, meaning he'd found something interesting. The mess of papers were an even better sign.

Sam's smile was sheepish. "Sort of. But I figured it out. You order yet?"

"Can't decide between the," Dean consulted the menu folded open in front of him, "'Hawaii Five-O,' or the 'New York King.' Maybe a couple slices of each. You turn up anything?"

In the chaos of the day, Sam almost forgot his own notes. He turned, digging into his satchel for his notebook. "Yeah, actually. Sounds like you did better."

His hand closed around the cellphone. It was probably fifteen minutes by now. He should see how Castiel was doing.

The back of his mind yammered with a mix of delicious anticipation, and even more delicious fear. Sam slapped the notebook on the table and dug out his phone. "So what'd you find?" He asked, eyes on his screen. He was doing this. He was _actually_ doing this, about to deliberately do something tantamount to sexting Castiel. Wavelength of celestial intent, soldier of God, size of the Chrysler Building _Castiel._

There was no way to play it cool, but Sam tried.

> **(6:24PM) Sam:** So, how'd it go?

Oblivious, Dean launched into a highly editorialized theory of how their spirit ended up in her current position. Sam dragged his brain out of the Bunker, out of what Castiel might be up to in the minutes between his text and an eventual reply, and tried to concentrate on Dean's findings. He almost succeeded, right up until the phone vibrated the table, twice. Sam twitched and Dean cut off mid-sentence. He shot a look at Sam's phone, then at Sam, brows up.

Sam reached for the phone, feeling himself start to harden under the table. Shit. Definitely forgot to figure Dean into the potential complications.

> **(6:26PM) Cas:** I'll show you.
> 
> **(6:26PM) Cas:** [photo attached. Click to download.]

Sam touched the download link, whereupon a blurry, dark closeup shot of nude flesh and vivid blue plastic appeared. The shot was so close, Sam couldn't make out any distinguishing landmarks, and closed the picture with a barely suppressed snicker.

"Just Cas," Sam said to Dean with a shrug, "checking in."

"Right," Dean replied, clearly not buying it, "everything okay where he's at?"

"Looks like. He's testing out a theory."

> **(6:29PM) Sam:** I can't tell what that is, but I like knowing what I'm doing to you when I text. How does it feel?
> 
> **(6:29PM) Sam:** Here's a double tap, because you deserve it. ;)

"Theory on what?" Dean asked, predictably.

"He was kind of fuzzy on the details," Sam said, and snatched up his water glass to hide his smirk.

> **(6:32PM) Cas:** It's surprising. And intense. I researched erogenous zones and settled on my perineum.
> 
> **(6:32PM) Cas:** The stimulation is somewhat weak. I've dialed up the intensity.
> 
> **(6:33PM) Cas:** Feel free to double tap.

"Wow. Isn't Cas a Chatty Cathy tonight," Dean muttered.

"Mmhm," Sam hummed absently, thumbs on his keypad.

> **(6:36PM) Sam:** Oh, that's a good spot. I like that spot too.
> 
> **(6:36PM) Sam:** Anywhere else you like?
> 
> **(6:37PM) Sam:** Info might be handy later.

At this rate, Sam would have to drop ice down his pants, just to get out of the booth. He fought the surge of filthy mental images, of Castiel stretched out more or less unclad - shirt open, tie loose on his chest - pressing the vibrator up behind his balls and jerking upward every time a new message appeared on his phone. Sam closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and exerted some of that iron will he was so proud of earlier this week.

Thankfully, their server arrived, distracting Sam from the heat pooling in his lap. With a little prodding, Dean slipped back into his story, and Sam struggled to get himself in hand without, you know, actually getting himself in hand. Castiel, of course, did nothing to help with that goal. He provided the intricate details of what he and his trusty vibrator had discovered. He retaliated with a question that required a longform answer from Sam, which ended up being several texts in length.

Sam looked up from his phone to find Dean glaring at him. "What?"

"You guys sure have a lot to talk about," Dean drawled, "for a 'theory' that's 'a little fuzzy on the details.'"

There was a guilty flush trying to creep up Sam's neck. He felt it rising, like the fucking Red October of sex blushes. "I just think he's lonely. If it bothers you I can put it away."

Dean waved a hand and picked up his fork. "Oh, no. By all means. You two Golden Girls gossip all you want. But if you won't fill me in on the big secret, maybe Cas will." He reached for his pocket with his free hand.

Panic surged, and the table jerked. Sam realized he'd lunged, or tried to, in some vain attempt to snag Dean's phone. Dean looked up at him now, wide-eyed.

"Okay, Bruce," Dean said, "you gonna Hulk out on me or—?"

"Sorry," Sam muttered, and slouched, hand over his eyes, "I just, I kicked the table. Really hard."

Dean eyed him. "You feeling all right? Maybe we should head back."

"No, seriously, I'm fine. It's fine," Sam repeated, unable to look at Dean and deciding he should never, ever, be allowed to plan anything again.

Castiel announced that he needed to stop, shortly after their meals arrived. Sam made his peace with that. Maybe he hadn't gotten Castiel off, but he had a good thirty more minutes to manage his own soft erection.

> **(7:01PM) Cas:** I want to wait until you're with me. How much longer will the case take?
> 
> **(7:03PM) Sam:** Probably finish it tonight. I think Dean's right. This should go fast.
> 
> **(7:05PM) Cas:** Good.

They picked up the conversation a few hours later, once Sam was tucked in bed for the night. This time, there was no vibrator involved, but the words flowing between them were charged with arousal. Without the usual barriers that kept Sam's Castiel-based sex fantasies in check, he couldn't seem to stop indulging. He wanted Castiel, bad. Judging from the detail on some of Castiel's shared fantasies, he was in a similar state.

> **(10:54PM) Cas:** I think about taking you to locales you've never visited. Penetrating you from behind on a balcony in Madrid. The sun scalding your back. Sparking in your hair as it falls over your shoulders. The way your hands squeeze the railing when I thrust into you.

Sam mouthed the pillow, closing his eyes against the wave of heat as Castiel brought him in to share the scene. He could almost feel it; the heat like a blanket on his back, the shivering fatigue of his shoulders and hips, and the thickness of Castiel's cock, stretching him open from the inside. It took a few slow breaths just to dredge a few words back from the almost alcoholic haze of arousal.

> **(10:58PM) Sam:** You're good at this. You're way too good at this. How are you so good at this, Cas?
> 
> **(11:00PM) Cas:** I've wanted you for a very long time.
> 
> **(11:02PM) Cas:** Spain is my favorite. I've spent the most time on it.
> 
> **(11:03PM) Sam:** I don't know if it's my favorite. I think I need more scenarios.
> 
> **(11:04PM) Cas:** Always happy to provide, Sam.

The next morning, Sam volunteered to drive. After all, it wasn't like he could keep this up and ride shotgun, right? Not unless he wanted to pass the next three hundred miles with a book over his lap.

They made it home in record time.

Castiel was waiting for them. For him. Sam felt the new-familiar pool of golden warmth building up, all over again. Years passed since Amelia, with just a couple disinterested rolls in the sheets, a handful of furtive solo acts in the shower or the back of the Impala. And here he was, wanting someone, on the verge of getting laid, and feeling like a—

What? A teenager? That wasn't right. What he felt right now, drowning in Castiel's dark eyes, phantom hands on his skin every time they looked at one another, had nothing of teenage innocence. Nothing of uncertainty. Sam felt gloriously wanted. By Castiel. By a man - by a person he admired. A person whose attention he'd been courting since the first time Castiel's hands folded around his like an embrace. The sensation of being wanted was freeing. Freeing like diving into a pool; feeling the water catch him up. Freeing like an open sky.

They got away from Dean eventually. Sam had his doubts about fucking Castiel in the room right next door to Dean's, but the walls here were thick. Concrete, brick, stone, probably layers of magical bullshit sandwiched in there like unicorn hair and dragon scales for good measure. Castiel pulled Sam into his arms, putting an end to the worry.

They tasted each other, fast and furtive at first, any minute expecting reality to tear them apart. Castiel's lush mouth pressed hard to Sam's, eager and without finesse. He shoved Sam into a wall. Sam's shoulder bumped a shelf; books shifted and tumbled. The lights flickered when Sam's hands burrowed under Castiel's shirt, and he looked up, into Sam, pupils dark and wide. Sam imagined that look in a dozen fantasies; a thousand nights alone, too sore and tired to do more. But the gaze on him now, open and intense, stark with desire, was nothing he could have dreamed up until tonight. It was a thing he'd never seen on Castiel before, this terrible, fearful longing; this flushed hunger as they looked at one another, with Castiel's hands cupped around Sam's face.

"If you want me," Castiel murmured, against his mouth, "take me."

Sam shuddered. He felt his body sag a little, arching out, into Castiel's hips.

"Unless you'd prefer," Castiel trailed off, and one hand slipped down, and down, along bicep and elbow and wrist, to lace their fingers together and press them to the wall.

Before he could swallow it, Sam's moan gushed against Castiel's neck.

Castiel's breath brushed the sensitive shell of Sam's ear, triggering another rush of heat. "Oh," Castiel whispered, as if he'd found some ultimate truth, "Come to bed, Sam."

They undressed one another in fits and starts, distracted from the task as their hands wandered; lips found one another again and again. Every time Sam pressed up to kiss him, Castiel was there, meeting him, drinking him in with a hunger that scorched. Castiel was careful, always careful, but Sam knew the hands that held his to the bed could twist off the head of a demon; could shatter his arm. The otherness of him was never more deeply obvious than when he'd pinned Sam down, immovable as a mountain range between Sam's thighs.

It should have been terrifying. It was. It really was. But to Sam's fucked up, violence-soaked hunter brain, it was exhilarating too. The needle prick of adrenaline heightening every sensation. Castiel was an angel. Someone with a true form bigger than a skyscraper. Someone old, older than the Earth, but still new and fumbling in Sam's arms. Still excited by Sam's skin on his; by the sweet heat of a kiss.

"You're amazing," Sam breathed, "I can't believe you're really here."

Castiel leaned into him, pressed into him, the slick head of his cock nudging Sam open until he groaned. "I'm here, Sam. I—oh. _Oh,_ " and then a soft litany of Sam's name followed, interspersed with shuddering gasps, as Sam arched his hips and felt the length of Castiel slide home.

"Please, Sam," Castiel's voice was only breath, "hold onto me."

He released Sam's hands, and Sam rushed to wrap around the warm solidness of him. His hands caught at Castiel's nape, clutching while they rocked together, shivered together, over their heads and drowning in the rush. The comedown was slow and thick as honey, as the sheets warmed around their bodies and exhaustion lulled Sam towards sleep. "I should really send that Lucas guy a thank-you note," he muttered, the weight of Castiel reassuring against his chest.

"Lucas?"

"The _Encantado_. The dude who gave me the vibe." The word was somehow easier to find now, easier to say, with a mouth that knew the girth and taste of Castiel's cock and a voice that moaned his name less than an hour ago.

Castiel was quiet a moment. "I imagine there's a story in that," he said.

With a laugh, Sam burrowed a little closer against Castiel's side. "I'll tell you sometime," he said, yawned, and gestured towards the vibrator box on the nightstand. "next time I'm in Iowa. Make sure you're strapped in."

Castiel rolled his hips, slow and languid. "Don't skip the details."


End file.
